


Are You Serious?!

by Ohshitmyship



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Superwholock - Fandom
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Destiel - Freeform, Established Relationship, Fix-it fic, I am slowly sinking into my teenage obsessions, I cannot believe I am writing this, I hope this at least makes y'all laugh, Multi, SPN 15x20 didn't happen btw, Superwholock, This is so stupid and self-indulgent, and I actually have good writing skills now, but it's also very funny so like. there you go, which is very dangerous considering I am in quarantine, wouldn't it be funny if this got popular
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohshitmyship/pseuds/Ohshitmyship
Summary: Yes. I know. I am writing SuperWhoLock fic in the year of our lord, 2021. But just, hear me out, okay?15x20 didn't happen. Jack resurrected Castiel who immediately returned to Dean and they are in love. Cas and Eileen have dish sessions about the Winchester Bros. They do what they love – hunt, but now they can take it easy. Until a bunch of British strangers show up in their town.Ten and Rose are travelling the universe as always when they suddenly end up in Kansas, 2020, when they were supposed to be in the 34th century on planet T'laith. Not the trip they had planned, but certainly far more interesting.Sherlock and John are walking home after a case-closed celebratory lunch when they suddenly end up on the side of a dirt road, and they did not dress for Kansas weather. Sherlock is not entirely convinced he's not high on some kind of acid and John just wishes Sherlock would stop trying to shoot himself in an attempt to wake up.So maybe Jack didn't do the greatest job of fixing the multiverse – but cut him some slack! He's two years old, for god's sake.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Six Humans, One Timelord, One Angel, and No One Has Any Idea What Is Going On

**Author's Note:**

> this is....so stupid. Good god. Anyways, I also post on patreon a week early so like. Yeah. Ohsh!tmyship. if Y'all feel like giving me money for this. 
> 
> happy reading

Sam and Eileen were on their morning jog when they noticed something weird. 

Sam tapped Eileen’s shoulder to catch her attention and they slowed to a halt.

“What is a Police Box doing here?” Eileen asked.

Sam frowned at her before looking back at the big blue box that sat on the corner by the park. It looked about twice the size of a regular phone box, a light on top, and big white letters near the top reading  _ POLICE BOX. _

“What is a Police Box?”

“They were popular in the sixties in the United Kingdom,” Eileen explained, “Their function was similar to a phone box, but with a direct line to the police. They can also be locked from the outside and the light turned on in order to detain someone or make a citizen’s arrest. But I’ve only seen them in museums mostly.”

“Huh,” Sam said, “Maybe it’s a modern art piece?”

“Maybe – wait!”

They ducked behind a couple of bushes to watch the doors open and see two people step out; a tall man with wild brown hair and a suit with red running shoes, and a pretty blonde woman in a jean jacket.

Sam was just about to make a joke about the Police Box being repurposed as a sex thing, when he heard them speak.

“So why are we in Kansas in 2020?”

“No clue!” The man replied cheerfully, “I guess we’ll just have to take a look around and find out!”

Sam turned to Eileen so she could see his lips and whispered, “Well...that’s interesting. Did you see what they said?”

Eileen shook her head and the two waited for the couple to be out of sight before they stood up and casually made their way over to the box.

“She asked why they were in Kansas in 2020,” Sam explained, “Isn’t it weird that someone would mention the year? And get this – the man said that he had no idea, and they would just have to find out. Oh yeah, and they were English.”

Eileen scowled, “Great, Brits. Do you think you can pick the lock, take a look inside?”

“Yeah, sure. Here, stand guard.”

Eileen nodded and turned, casually watching the mostly empty streets – it was just after ten on a Tuesday, so most people were either in school or at work. 

“Got it,” Sam said, tapping Eileen’s arm. They both glanced around once more to make sure no one was watching them before they opened the door and stepped into the box.

“What the hell?” Eileen breathed, shutting the door behind them.

The interior was  _ massive,  _ impossibly so, and it looked like there were actually  _ hallways  _ leading elsewhere. Everything looked very futuristic but also very vintage, like a steampunk  _ Jetsons  _ set piece. There was a slight humming coming from all around them, and they looked around in awe.

“This is...definitely weird,” Sam declared, “I’m gonna call Dean.”

* * *

“I can’t believe this.”

“Well, John, we’re here, so there is no use in complaining.”

“But we have no idea  _ how we got here _ !” John shouted, throwing his arms up. He held his jacket in his arms, as it had been a lot warmer than he was dressed for. He even rolled up his jumper sleeves, feeling rather ratty, doing so while standing on the side of the road.

“Well, obviously someone put us here,” Sherlock replied calmly, looking down the road, “I’m not sure how yet, but they obviously meant to confuse us. No bags, no maps, our phones are dead. Whatever this is, it was planned, which means that whatever we’re up against, they’re clever and likely had time and resources. Lots of both.”

“Great,” John grumbled, then he perked up as he noticed an approaching car, “Hey, look! Maybe our luck is changing.”

“Or maybe this is all part of the plan.”

“And maybe they have air conditioning,” John replied, stepping out into the road and holding his hand out, “I don’t know where the hell we were dropped, but it’s warmer than I usually dress for. Maybe we’re in France.”

“No,” Sherlock replied as the car began to slow down and approach, “The climate doesn’t seem French. It seems... _ American. _ ”

At that point, the car approaching them rumbled to a stop, the engine purring loudly. It was a vintage, black muscle car, and rock music was blaring from it. The music was turned down and the passenger window rolled, a man with wild black hair and piercing blue eyes looking back at them.

“Are you two alright?” He asked in a gravelly voice, clearly American.

“We’re lost,” John said before Sherlock could screw their only chance at getting off the side of the road, “Any chance you two can help us?”

“We’re headed to Lebanon,” the driver said, leaning over and smiling, “You want a ride?”

“That would be amazing,” John said. He glanced over and saw Sherlock pursing his lips, no doubt analyzing every aspect of the men and their car.

“Hop in,” the driver said cheerfully, and a loud  _ click  _ signalled the doors unlocking. 

Sherlock got in on the driver’s side while John sat passenger. It was strange to be sitting and driving on the opposite side of the road, so he was believing Sherlock’s suspicion that they were in America more and more, despite how impossible it seemed.

Once they were buckled in, the car pulled away. Aside from the rock music still turned down, it was quiet.

“So, what were you two doing on the side of the road?” The driver asked, “Backpacking with no backpacks?”

“Something like that,” Sherlock said, “How long have you had this car?”

“What?” John asked.

“This car seems to be very old, but well-cared for,” Sherlock began, in his  _ I am deducting and a brilliant detective so do not interrupt me  _ voice, “However, it is also quite worn. It’s been in your care for some time, yes?”

“Yeah,” the driver admitted with a chuckle, “This was my dad’s car way back when he was first dating Mom. My brother and I basically grew up in this car, and now it’s my Baby.”

“What’s your name?” Sherlock asked.

“Apologies,” the passenger said, turning and gesturing at the driver, “This is Dean, and I’m Castiel. His boyfriend.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Cas, do you gotta say that every time?”

“Considering we spent nearly twelve years with our heads up our asses and it took us  _ dying  _ to admit our feelings, yes. Now, who are you two?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my companion, Dr. John Watson.”

Dean glanced back at them in the rearview mirror with a frown, “What, like the books?”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock asked.

“The detective and his doctor buddy, y’know,” Dean replied.

“Do you mean from my blog?” John prompted, “I know it’s not as big in America.”

“What blog?”

“Your name –” Sherlock interjected, “Castiel. It’s Biblical. An angel’s name.”

“It is, yes.”

“Any reason for that?”

“Why is there any reason for any name?” Cas replied easily. 

Before Sherlock could say something else, a rock tune played from Dean’s phone. Cas reached over to the centre console and picked it up.

“Hello, Sam.”

“ _ Hey guys!” _ Another man’s voice called from the speaker, “ _ How was the hunt?” _

“Good, killed what we needed,” Dean replied, “Hey Sammy, you’re on speaker. We picked up a couple of hitchhikers.”

“ _ Oh. Right. Um, well, Eileen and I found something interesting on our jog – you on your way home?” _

“About fifteen minutes out from downtown. You need help?”

_ “No, no, we’re good. Nothing dangerous yet just….weird. Maybe Cas would know something about it. It’s in the park, right on the street corner. You can’t miss it.” _

“What is it?” Castiel asked.

“ _ Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.” _

“Helpful as always, Sam,” Dean said with a sigh, “Alright, we’ll see you there.”

“ _ Right. _ ”

The call ended and Cas put the phone back down. From his expression, it was clear he wanted to say something, but didn’t because of the two in the back of the car.

“What do you two hunt?” Sherlock asked.

Dean and Cas glanced at each other before responding “deer” and “quail” at the same time.

“All kinds of stuff, really,” Dean said.

“Right. So where is your prize?” Sherlock pressed, “The trunk looks about wide enough to fit a person, but not enough to fit a deer carcass, nor is there smell coming from it.”

“It’s insulated.”

“Then there would be a residual cleaning solution to keep contamination away,” Sherlock said, “Did you not bring back any meat?”

“What do you care anyways?” Dean snapped, “You guys from PETA or something?”

“Merely curious, is all. That man on the phone, he was your brother.”

This was not a question, but rather a statement of the obvious. Dean tried to think if he or Cas had referred to Sam as his brother, and was pretty sure they hadn’t.

“Yeah. What of it?”

“You two seem close. Your conversation suggests that you live near each other, perhaps even in the same building. That would make sense of course, as you claim that the two of you grew up together on the road. It is only natural for the two of you to settle down together with your spouses.”

“Sherlock,” John warned, as they were getting dangerously close to psycho-analyzing the two men who had been kind enough to give them a ride into town.

“There’s a motel in Lebanon,” Dean said briskly, “It ain’t the Ritz, but it’s not bad. We can drop you off there.”

“Thank you,” John said, “We really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Cas replied, “helping people is what we do.”

“I thought you were hunters?” Sherlock said.

“Saving people, hunting things,” Dean replied with a bit of a smirk, “It’s the family business.”

“So...are you doctors?” John asked.

“I can heal people,” Cas said, but Dean shot him a warning look.

“How notably vague,” Sherlock mused.

“You’re really gettin’ into character, huh?” Dean said, his hands tightening on the wheel. He glanced at Cas and he knew they were thinking the same thing –  _ Men of Letters. _

“What do you mean by that?” John asked, leaning forward a bit, “You keep talking about books, but I don’t think there have been any books actually published about us.”

“Sure there have,” Dean replied, “The _Sherlock Holmes_ series, written by…. What was his name? ‘C’ Doyle or something?”  
“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” Cas prompted.

“Yeah, him. I haven’t read them, but Sam probably has.”

“I read several of them,” Cas mused, “I particularly liked  _ The Sign of Two. _ ”

“ _ The Sign of Three, _ ” John corrected, “That’s the title of the blog post.”

“Oh. Well, the title of the book refers to two.”

“Why are you guys here, again?” Dean asked, glancing at the two Englishmen in the backseat, “I don’t see any bags. Were you mugged or something?”

“I fear this may be a trick played upon me by my archnemesis,” Sherlock replied casually, looking out the window as cornfields passed them by, “Though I am still trying to figure out how he did it, and why.”

“Perhaps we can be of some assistance,” Cas offered.

At the same time, both Dean and Sherlock responded with a quick, harsh, “No.”

“I have learned not to trust people in situations I am not in control of,” Sherlock said, “And I would not like to be indebted to two religious killers, so if you could just drop us off at the motel, that would be grand.”

“Sherlock!” John scolded, but Cas turned around with a confused frown.

“What makes you think we’re...religious killers?”

“Well, you’re clearly not hunters,” Sherlock began, and John rolled his eyes, “If you were, then you would have your kills, guns, supplies, and clothes – not all of which would fit in the back. I suppose it’s entirely possible you have a cabin, but  _ no –  _ you and your brother grew up in this car, so it’s unlikely for you to own more than one home. And while your car is dirty, there is no mud on the tires, which there would have been had you gone hunting. As for your brother, he knew about the hunt but watched his words after you informed him that we were in the car. Very interesting, by the way – picking up two strangers on the side of the road with no bags and who seem  _ very  _ suspicious. You would not have picked us up unless you were certain that we could not harm you, which means that you would have to be very sure in your own abilities to defend yourselves. The two of you have eyes similar to John’s; you’re fighters, warriors, and you have killed more than your fair share.”

“Sherlock, I think that’s enough,” John said, beginning to get fed up with it, “Is it so hard to believe that two people would like to help us?”

“Considering we’re in rural America and it’s  _ us,  _ yes.”

“Why religious?” Cas asked, looking more curious than offended, which did nothing but encourage Sherlock, “Why killers?”

“You’re both soldiers – clear in your posture and stances. However, it was the name and the trench coat that cinched it. Castiel  _ is  _ an angel’s name, the angel of Thursday if I am correct. Such a name suggests a heavily religious upbringing, and based on the rosary hanging out of the glove box, I would say that you continue to practice. As for the trench coat, there is some blood splatter on your right sleeve, as well as a concealed knife, one that you are very comfortable with.”

The car was quiet for a moment as Cas turned to Dean.

Finally, he said, “Well...he’s not entirely  _ wrong. _ ”

“Cas!” Dean snapped.

“I was raised to follow the word of God.”

“That’s an understatement,” Dean scoffed, then he sighed, “So...what? You gonna call the police? You’ve got no proof.”

“Oh no, the police are useless,” Sherlock replied easily, “I will simply wait. I cannot imagine that our meeting is accidental. In fact, it’s entirely likely that you were sent to kill me.”

“Yeah, we don’t really follow orders anymore,” Dean said, “Now, we have no idea who the hell you people are, but I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of our business. We do our jobs, you do yours.”

“So you’re really serial killers,” John said, his fingers twitching towards his gun in his jacket.

“No, we’re  _ not, _ ” Dean said firmly, “We don’t kill people.”

“You put the emphasis on  _ people, _ ” Sherlock noted, “So you kill those whom you don’t consider human.”

Dean grit his teeth and sped up.

“It’s complicated,” Castiel said firmly, “and difficult to explain. Also very hard to believe.”

“Oh please, there’s little that can surprise us nowadays. Faking one’s death will suspend much disbelief.”

“Still pissed about that,” John mumbled.

“Ha!” Dean barked, “Try  _ actually  _ dying.”

“Ah, so there it is. You died, believed it was God’s will to bring you back, so now you carry out his mission. Oh my, how interesting. A case working backwards, I’ve never done this before.”

“God’s will doesn’t mean squat to me,” Dean said bitterly, “And he wasn’t the one who brought me back.”

At this, his eyes glanced over at Castiel, and Sherlock smiled.

“He saved your life. How romantic. Did he teach you the word of God, too?”

“We’re here,” Dean declared, slamming on the brakes. At that point, they were in the centre of a very small town, right in the main stretch. People stared as Dean’s car stopped outside of a dingy-looking motel called  _ The Starlight Inn, “ _ Get out.”

“Thank you,” John said as he opened the door.

“Yes, pleasant chat,” Sherlock added.

“Screw off,” Dean snapped. Once the men got out, Dean sped his car out of the parking lot and onto the road, heading, presumably, towards the park.

“What the  _ hell,  _ Sherlock!” John demanded as they made their way to the main office, “You just decided to confront some  _ serial killers  _ in their damn car?”

“Oh, they weren’t going to hurt us,” Sherlock assured, “Dean was driving, which made him vulnerable. Castiel clearly cares about him, so he wouldn’t incite anything that could bring them harm.”

“You’re going to get us killed, I swear to god.”

“Hello!” The clerk greeted cheerfully, “Are you two looking for a room?”

“Yes, please,” John said, deciding to do all the talking, “Two queens, please.”

“Of course! Say, what are two British men like you hitching a ride with the Winchesters?”

“The Winchesters?” John asked, “You know them?”

The girl shrugged, “It’s a small town, so everybody knows everybody. The Winchesters keep to themselves though – they live just outside of town. You friends of theirs or something?”

“Yes, we are,” Sherlock interjected, “Cousins, actually.”

“Oh! If you don’t mind, why aren’t you staying with them?”

“You know how private they can be,” Sherlock said, “We don’t even know where they live.”

“Well, I can’t help you there,” the girl joked, “I was friends with their kid, Jack, a while back. I’m pretty sure they live in this World War I-era bunker, but I have  _ no clue  _ how they got into it. It’s impossible to get into, and probably booby-trapped.”

“That sounds like them,” Sherlock said with a smile.

“Yeah it does. Well, here are your keys – room 221.”

The two men smiled at the coincidence.

“Ah, one more thing,” Sherlock said as John began to walk away, “Could you tell us where the park is?”

* * *

“Okay, yeah, this is  _ weird,  _ even for us.”

Cas and Dean had met up with Sam and Eileen at the old Police Box, now inside it. There were lights all around and their footsteps echoed off the walls.

“It’s definitely some kind of machine, but it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Cas admitted, circling around the pillar in the centre, which was glowing a pretty teal colour, “I haven’t a clue what this thing is.”

“Great,” Sam sighed, looking down a hallway with several doors, “I’ve looked around a little bit – it’s kind of a maze, but there are bedrooms and a  _ massive  _ wardrobe. I think Dean’s in there now.”

“No way!” Dean’s voice called, as if on cue. They turned as he strode out of the large room filled with clothes from all over, wearing a cowboy hat and cowhide chaps – it looked pretty accurate too, “Guys, you would not  _ believe  _ what they have here!”

“How is it that everywhere we go, you somehow manage to get yourself a cowboy hat?” Cas asked with a sigh.

“Maybe we should take this thing back to the bunker,” Eileen suggested.

“How?” Dean asked, “Tow it behind the Impala? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“It’s too big for me to teleport it,” Cas said, “Too complicated.”

“So how the hell did it end up here?” Sam wondered, “It wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Well, we asked around a bit,” Dean said, swatting away Cas’s hand as he reached up for the hat, “No one said they saw it come or go. Some did say they heard a weird noise, like a...Cas, how did the waitress describe it?”

“Like gears wheezing as they ground together.”

“Yeah that’s it.”

“I’ve never heard anything like that,” Sam said.

“Me neither,” Eileen agreed, earning a small chuckle from her boyfriend.

“Well, whatever this thing is,” Dean declared, “it’s weird, and  _ weird  _ for us usually means  _ dangerous _ .”

“I don’t think I’m a particularly dangerous person.”

They all jumped and whirled around at the sound of the new voice. There, the man in the brown suit and the blonde girl stood in the doorway, watching the four with interest.

“How did you get in here?” The man asked as he strode in easily, his hands in his pockets, the girl trailing behind him curiously.

“Wasn’t a hard lock to pick,” Sam said, his hands empty but ready to reach for his gun at any moment, “What is this?”

“It’s the TARDIS,” the man said proudly, reaching the centre and running a hand along the console, “Amazing, isn’t she?”  
“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, “that man isn’t human. There’s...something wrong. With both of them.”

That was enough for Dean. He’d had enough of weird British people for the day, so he was quick to draw his gun, Sam and Eileen following suit as they aimed it at the man. Cas drew his blade, and for a moment, no one moved. 

The girl yelped in surprise and stepped back, but something in the man’s face...changed. It hardened, his smile disappearing into a slight frown.

“There’s something you should know about me,” the man said, his voice somehow dangerous, “ _ Well,  _ there’s a lot you should know about me. But first and foremost – I don’t like guns.”

As he said this, his hand whipped out of his pocket and the four hunters prepared to be shot at, but it was just...a thing. A thing that glowed blue and made a little whirring noise as he pointed it at the three humans. They each dropped their guns as they sparked in their hands.

“The hell?” Dean wondered.

“What are you?” Cas demanded, hefting his blade and adjusting his grip on it, “Why are you here?”

“Still figuring out the second part,” he admitted with a shrug, twirling the thing in his fingers, “But I’m a Timelord. I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” Sam asked.

He grinned, “Exactly. Now! Since all the guns are taken care of, why don’t you put that knife away and we can all have a civil conversation, hmm?”

“Wait a second,” Cas said, narrowing his eyes at the two, “The two men we picked up...they also said they weren’t sure why they were here, or how they even got here.”

“Is there a convention in town or something?” Dean asked, mostly sarcastically.

“Now  _ that  _ is interesting!” The Doctor said.

“Wait,” the girl spoke up, approaching and looking at Cas, “You said there was something wrong with us, and you knew the Doctor wasn’t human. How?”

“Oooh, very good Rose!”

“Your souls don’t fit,” Cas replied, still holding his knife, though he didn’t seem to need it, “They’re just... _ wrong. _ It’s as though they don’t belong here. And no human has two hearts.”

“You can  _ see  _ souls? And my hearts?” The Doctor asked.

“Of course. I’m an angel.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” the Doctor mused.

“Okay,” Sam spoke up, “so...what? You’re something called a Timelord? Why are your souls different?”

“What in the  _ hell? _ ”

Once again, the group turned at the arrival of a new voice, and Dean audibly groaned when he saw John and Sherlock standing at the entrance, looking thoroughly confused.

“What is this?!” John asked as he looked around.

“Oh, hello! I’m assuming these are the two others you were talking about?” The Doctor asked, jabbing a thumb at the two men while he looked at Cas.

“How are you doing this?” Sherlock asked, disappearing again, the door shutting behind him. There came a knocking on the wall near Dean and Cas, then one from down the hall, then the door opened again, “What is this?!”

“Their souls are also wrong,” Cas realized, now putting his blade away, “but...different.”

“Did Moriarty send you?” Sherlock demanded as he stormed back in. 

“ _ Who _ ?” The Doctor asked.

“Sherlock, I don’t think this is Moriarty,” John said.

“Neither do I, but I am quickly running out of options. Who are you?”

“The Doctor.”

“Doctor who?” John asked.

“Exactly!”

“But  _ who are you _ ?!” Sam demanded.

“The Doctor.”

Doctor  _ who _ ?!” Sherlock snapped.

“Exactly!”

“Enough!” Eileen cried, silencing everyone, “Let’s start from the top. You two–” she pointed to Rose and the Doctor – “how did you get here?”

“The TARDIS,” the Doctor explained, patting the console affectionately, “she takes us all over time and space. Something’s off about this place, can’t put my finger on it though.”

“You.” She pointed at John and Sherlock, “How did you two get here?”

“No idea,” John said, “One moment, we were walking down Baker Street, the next, we’re on a dirt road. Unless of course, I missed something. Sherlock?”

But Sherlock didn’t answer, because he was busy poking around the TARDIS, becoming increasingly frustrated.

“How does this...TARDIS function?” He finally asked, ignoring the current line of questioning, “What trick are you using to make it look so much bigger on the inside?”

“It’s not a trick,” the Doctor replied, “it’s just smaller on the outside. Gallifreyan technology.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Rose offered.

“What the hell is Gallifreyan?” Dean asked.

“Gallifrey is the home planet of the Timelords,” the Doctor explained.

“ _ Planet _ ?” Sam echoed.

“You’re an alien,” Cas realized.

Dean laughed, “Ah,  _ no.  _ Aliens aren’t real. They’re usually just fairies.”

Sam chuckled at the memory but quickly turned it into a cough when Dean shot him a glare.

“Okay,” Eileen said, taking control of the room once more, “So you two are from this planet called Gallifrey?”

“He is,” Rose said, “I’m not. I’m from London. I just follow him around.”

“Right. What about you two?”

“London, same as her,” John replied.

“What year?” The Doctor asked.

“Currently? 2019.”

“It’s 2021,” Sam said.

“I’ve been travelling with the Doctor for about a year and a half now,” Rose spoke up, “So I suppose for me, technically, it’s about 2006.”

The Doctor shrugged, “I don’t really have a specific year. That’ll happen when you spend the past few hundred years travelling through time.”

“So how the shit did four people from three different years end up here?” Dean asked.

“We have been messing with the multiverse lately,” Sam offered, “This could be a side effect of all that.”

“There is no such  _ thing _ as the multiverse!” Sherlock suddenly snapped, “There is no planet Gallifrey, no Timelords, no, no whatever  _ this  _ is. Unless! Oh!” He clapped and grinned, and everyone in the room (including John) figured he had gone insane, “This is nothing! A simulation, meant to derange me. There is just enough logic to seem realistic, but far too much fantasy. This isn’t real. Now, to find my way out of this.”

“Sorry, Sherlock,” Dean said, “but it’s real.”

“You four are surprisingly calm about this,” John said, turning to them with a frown, “How?”

“Yes, I have to admit,” the Doctor agreed, “I am impressed. Usually people are more like...him.”

“Not much phases us anymore,” Same said, “Hey is he going to be okay?”

“Good question.” John sighed, walking over to Sherlock, who had closed his eyes, his fingers pressed to his temples, “Sherlock! Stop it! This is reality! As weird as it is.”

“No, this is merely a new drug introduced to my system. A  _ fascinating  _ drug, and a powerful one too. It’s likely someone spiked our coffee with it at the café.”

“So we’re both having the same trip? Sherlock, that’s impossible.”

“Of course it’s impossible John. You’re obviously not sharing my dream, you are merely a figment of my imagination. Now, to wake up,  _ that  _ is the trick. In a dream, you wake up when you die, so I merely have to kill myself. John, if you would kindly shoot me? I don’t have my gun on me.”

“Sherlock,  _ no _ ! I am  _ not  _ shooting you!”

“I will,” Dean offered, but Cas shut him down with a glare.

“No one is shooting  _ anybody _ ,” the Doctor declared, “Sherlock – how do we convince you this is reality?”

“It isn’t,” Sherlock said calmly, “but if I were to be injured badly and  _ truly  _ feel it, then I might be convinced.”

“Is there something that doesn’t involve you being injured?” John cried, “Sherlock, come on!”

“Oh, you’re all useless, you’re not even real,” Sherlock said as he pulled out a small pocket knife, flipping it open, “Well John, I’ll see you when I wake up.”

Then he raised the knife, presumably about to stab himself with it. Everyone cried out and lunged for him just as he began to plunge it down.

But there was no pain. 

Instead, Castiel held his arm back with one hand, the other reaching to touch two fingers to his forehead. Before Sherlock could comprehend that Castiel had moved faster than humanly possible, he found himself fading from consciousness.

He crumpled, and Castiel caught him, the knife grazing his arm before clattering to the floor.

“What did you do?” John asked as Cas gently laid Sherlock on the floor, “is he –?”

“He’s alive, just asleep.”

“But – how did you –? The knife, it cut you but you’re not –”

“I’m an angel of the Lord. Mortal weapons don’t hurt me.”

“Right….”

“How about,” Rose began carefully, “I put on some tea and we all sit down and talk this out.”

“Great idea Rose!” The Doctor replied, still watching Castiel with interest, “I think tea and a chat is the perfect solution.”


	2. Dean Punches Sherlock While Wearing Cowhide Chaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People are surprisingly into this???? Maybe it's because I am treating it like a joke bc again. I am writing Superwholock in 2021. But it's funny and I'm having fun so like. Yeah whatever. 
> 
> Also! I do have a patreon (ohSh!itmyship) where I post everything a week early! I also have some behind the scenes and original stuff on there as well, so feel free to check it out!!!
> 
> Thanks, and happy reading!

Sherlock woke up with a gasp. 

He looked around him, surprised to see his coat draped over him like a blanket. He was in the bottom half of a bunkbed, and based on the darkened circles on the wall, he was still in the damn TARDIS.

He shook his head as he sat up, trying to remember what had happened. 

He had deduced that he was in some kind of drug-induced simulation, trip, nightmare – whatever the hell you wanted to call it. It simply wasn’t  _ real,  _ and his enemies had to try a lot harder than that to get to him.

Sherlock recalled realizing that the best way out would be to die; you die in a dream, you wake up. John had been reluctant to shoot him, of course, so Sherlock had planned to stab himself, the pain forcing him to wake up.

Obviously, that hadn’t worked. He didn’t remember feeling pain, just shock as he looked into Castiel’s eyes before passing out. Something was clearly wrong with this reality, as there was no possible way for Castiel to have crossed the room to stop him that quickly.

And yet, he was still in the dream, feeling more and more like reality with each passing second.

With a heavy sigh, Sherlock got out of bed and put his coat back on. He opened the door and heard several voices talking peacefully, one sounding like they were eating around food. Following the voices, Sherlock found himself in what looked to be a kitchen, with all the others sat at the table, sipping on tea and homemade biscuits.

“Oh good, you’re up,” John said with a smile as he noticed Sherlock enter the room, “We’ve got a lot to fill you in on.”

“How did you do that?” Sherlock asked, not moving from the doorway, looking at Castiel, “How did you move that fast? Knock me out?”

“Why don’t you sit down,” the Doctor offered, “and they can explain everything.”

“Fine,” Sherlock said briskly, sitting down at the empty seat between John and Castiel. Dean, Sam, and the Irish girl all watched him carefully as he sat down. The Doctor quickly poured some tea for him, but Sherlock didn’t touch it.

“So, from the top, yes?” The Doctor asked with a smile, “I’m the Doctor – and don’t say ‘Doctor who’ because that joke is getting a bit tired. It’s just  _ Doctor. _ Anywho, I’m a Timelord, an alien from the planet Gallifrey who travels throughout time and space. Rose here is from London, circa 2006, and she has been my companion for the past year and a half, give or take. It seems as though we have travelled to another universe altogether, which is very rare and difficult to do.”

“They’ve travelled to  _ our  _ universe,” Sam explained, “Um, I’m Sam by the way. This is my girlfriend, Eileen, and my brother, Dean. Castiel is an angel and Dean’s boyfriend. In this universe, there are a bunch of books written about you guys that exist in this world, but they seem to be a little different from your life.”

“Also in this world,” Dean added with a cocky air, “there are monsters. Any monster you can name, we’ve probably killed it – vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and demons. God is real, and he’s also a real dick. Recently, he went a bit off the deep end and began erasing the multiverse. We stopped him of course, and Lucifer’s son, Jack, who is basically the Antichrist, put everything back to the way it was.”

“Wouldn’t we have noticed being erased and then put back together?” Sherlock asked, still not entirely believing it.

“You would think,” the Doctor said with a laugh, “But aside from a couple of spatial-temporal anomaly readings, you wouldn’t have noticed a thing. Apparently this Jack put everything back to the exact moment it was erased by God.”

“So with all of the confusion,” Castiel continued, “it’s likely that Jack got a couple of threads crossed, opened a couple of doorways. That’s likely how you ended up here.”

“Where is this  _ Jack? _ ”

“In Heaven,” Eileen replied, “he spends most of his time there, but he visits every now and then. Cas was going to go and find him after we talked everything out.”

“So when you said our souls were wrong, you meant that they weren’t in the right universe,” Sherlock said, “They didn’t match the rest of the souls in this universe.”

“You are correct.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Castiel. He had already analyzed him, but did a once-over nonetheless.

_ Ruffled clothes and hair. Crooked tie. Blood spatter on right sleeve, as well as hidden blade. Dirt on the shoes, not pants. Phone in left coat pocket. Heavy coat despite the weather, as well as a suit. Wrinkles on clothes suggest heavy use – they are worn often and for a long amount of time. Very small wardrobe. Straight posture with dark eyes suggests soldier. Religious name.  _

And...it stopped there. From what Sherlock gathered, Castiel was a religious man who killed in the name of God and travelled often, learning to pack light. But his face seemed ageless, like he could be twenty or a thousand years old.

He turned to Dean, who sat beside him.

_ Similar posture, military. Gun in pants. Several hidden blades. Phone in back left pocket. Yellow scleras – alcoholic. No beer gut. Heavy exercise. Calloused hands and fingers. Lots of physical labour, likely handles many blunt instruments. Wrinkled clothes – packed in a bag, uncaring of appearances. Likely prioritizing weapons and supplies. Eyebags, suggesting insomnia. Shielding Sam and Eileen – protective older brother. Comfortable with Castiel’s personal bubble, suggesting a long-term relationship. Crumbs around mouth and on shirt suggest a quick, messy eater. He eats as much as he can when he can.Likely didn’t have much food growing up. No, scratch that – Sam eats far more polite, his napkin is well-used and he has few crumbs. He eats quickly, but not with the same hunger. Food was provided by Dean. Temper.  _

“You two,” Sherlock said, zeroing in on the brothers, “You grew up on the road, likely with a paternal figure who had military experience, who taught you similarly to his military teachings. Resources like food and clothes were scarce, but it seems as though Dean always made sure that Sam had enough, even at his own expense.”

Sam and Dean’s eyes both widened, glancing at each other as their expressions hardened. 

“I suggest you stop,” Sam said.

“But you two are so  _ easy _ !” Sherlock protested,

Dean scoffed and got out of his seat, turning away from the table, pretending to look about in the kitchen. He had taken off the cowboy hat, but not the chaps.

“But the three of you, it’s as though you are trying to confuse me,” Sherlock continued, gesturing to the Doctor, Rose, and Castiel, “Which I know is impossible, and I would know if you were  _ actually  _ trying to confuse me because it is rather obvious, which only makes it worse. You!” He pointed at the Doctor, “Your shoes are well-worn as is the suit, you’ve been wearing both for a very long time and have copies of each of them, despite the massive wardrobe available to you. Your life is constantly changing and you hold onto any semblance of permanence you can, which is likely why you have a travelling companion. Who, by the way, switches out her wardrobe frequently and often tries to match the fashion of the era to which you are travelling but does not always get it right; her denim is reminiscent of the early 2000s, fashion that’s twenty years old. It shows a longing for home despite the travelling. But  _ you! _ ” He turned to Castiel, “You – you’re impossible! There’s not a speck of food around you nor drink, which shows that you refuse to participate even in social consumption yet are comfortable around society? It doesn’t make sense!”

“I’m an angel,” Castiel replied calmly, “I don’t eat. Food just tastes like...molecules. I don’t feel hunger.”

“But you have to eat! You’re a living organism, surely you need sustenance?”

“I am eternal,” Cas said with a shrug, “I don’t need things like sleep or drink or food. Angels do not exist on the same plane as humans.”

“So why do you look like a human?” John asked.

“Oh, this isn’t my true form. My true form has many eyes and is approximately the size of your Chrysler Building. This body is merely a vessel, my angelic form condensed into a human body so I may walk among you.”

“So you’re  _ possessing  _ someone?” Rose cried, “And you all  _ let  _ him?”

“Rest assured,” Cas offered, “Jimmy is no longer in here. He died when I was first killed by Raphael – he’s in Heaven with his wife.”

“How is that any better?” Rose protested.

“Angels need consent to possess a vessel,” Sam explained, “It’s still pretty uh, not  _ great,  _ but they need express permission. And like he said, it’s not Jimmy’s body anymore, it’s just Cas.”

“None of this makes any sense!” Sherlock spoke up again, turning back to the hunters, “You three, on the other hand, I can make sense of. Eileen, based on your eye and lip movements, you’re deaf and you’ve been reading everyone’s lips. Your posture, clothes, and attitude suggest that you’ve been on your own until very recently and you are still trying to get used to working with so many people. It’s incredibly likely you lost your parents at a young age, as your readiness to reach for one of your many concealed weapons displays a lack of trust and safety.”

“Watch it,” Sam warned, but he only gained Sherlock’s attention.

“The long hair suggests defiance and rebellion, a stark contrast to Dean’s short and practical cut. Your posture and speech suggests that you are the brains of the two while Dean is the brawn, but it’s clear that both of you can hold your own in a fight. Earlier I had assumed that Dean and Castiel were religious killers and I think that I am correct – but you were not raised on the word of God. Oh no, Dean only turned to that after Castiel saved him. It’s likely that the two of you had a difficult relationship with religion, with your father, with everything around you.”

“You shut your mouth,” Dean said, turning back around. He looked angry, which only encouraged Sherlock. He stood and turned to face Dean.

“Your  _ father,  _ now that’s the interesting thing. Dean was clearly the primary caregiver, but you and Dean seem similar in age, no more than five years apart. It’s likely that Dean emulated your father while you rebelled – typical among families with two children. There’s tension regarding your father, and your mother  _ clearly  _ is not in the pictu–”

But Sherlock never got to finish his sentence, because Dean clocked him hard in the jaw.

Everyone stood from their seats as Sherlock fell to the floor, holding his jaw in slight shock. Cas appeared beside Dean, a hand on his shoulder.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Dean said, pointing a finger at Sherlock, “talk like you know us. You don’t know shit. I’m going back to the bunker. See you there, or not. I don’t really care.”

Then Dean stalked out of the kitchen. After a moment, Cas sighed and followed him.

“I’ve warned you about Americans,” John said as he helped Sherlock up, “and you never seem to want to listen.”

“That was a  _ hard _ right hook,” Sherlock mused as he sat back down, rubbing his jaw, “Better than John’s.”

“We’re used to punching things a lot sturdier than humans,” Sam said, “So, are you done?’

“Still don’t know as much as I’d like to,” Sherlock complained.

“You could always just accept the fact that we are who we say we are,” the Doctor said, then he smiled, “But you’re far too clever for that. You’re going to need more evidence, so it’s good you’re not going anywhere.”

“Excuse me?”

“They think this will take a while,” John said, “Apparently multiverses are...complicated, and we’re dealing with three at a time, plus who knows how many more.”

“So now that everyone is caught up,” Rose asked, “what do we do now?”

“Knowing Cas,” Sam sighed, “he’s gonna calm Dean down before going to find Jack. We should just wait for them.”

“How about a tour of the TARDIS?” The Doctor prompted cheerfully.

* * *

The Doctor was explaining all the different areas of the costume department when Castiel reappeared in the middle of their conversation.

“Jesus Christ!” John yelled as everyone (minus Sam and Eileen) jumped at his sudden presence.

“It takes getting used to,” Sam said, “So, any news?”

“Dean went for a drive,” Castiel began, “and I spoke to Jack – he’s dealing with a maintenance issue in Heaven, but he should be able to come down around dinnertime. Bobby and the Harvelles say hi, by the way.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, “did you just get back from  _ Heaven _ ? As in, the biblical afterlife?”

“Yes. Was I supposed to do something else?”

“If he is an angel,” Sherlock said, mindlessly looking through the clothes, “it would make sense for him to have a direct connection to Heaven, to access it whenever and wherever he is.”

“Have you finally accepted this is reality?” Eileen asked.

“Unfortunately. Dean’s punch should not have hurt that much if this was a hallucination of some sort. So yes, I have surmised that this is all quite real and adjusted accordingly.”

“We should all head back to the bunker,” Sam offered, “I can pick up dinner or something while we wait to hear back from Jack.”

“Oh, I can drive!” The Doctor perked up, “I can land us right on top of your bunker – even in it, if you want!”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Eileen said, “This thing seems like it would catch a lot of attention, flying through the air.”

“Oh, no!” The Doctor laughed, “It doesn’t  _ fly. _ Well, it  _ can,  _ but I’ll just teleport it there. I just need an image and some coordinates!”

“You sure?” John asked.

“Yeah, it should fit in the garage,” Sam said.

“How big is your bunker?” Rose asked.

“Big. We’ll show you,” Eileen said.

“Well, allons-y!” The Doctor cheered, running off to the main room of the TARDIS. The others followed as he began to spin thingies and pull on doohickeys and press buttons, “Sam, you got those coordinates and a picture?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sam rushed forward and punched in the numbers where the Doctor told him to, then showed him a picture on his phone of the garage, which he’d taken for reference in case something ever went wrong.

“Perfect! Everyone, hold onto something, it might be a bit bumpy.”

Everyone quickly grabbed hold of the rails around them as the grinding, whirring noise started up around them. It faded in and then out, lurching with a loud  **thud!** It wasn’t as bumpy as they had been expecting, and they all stood warily as the Doctor flipped a few final switches.

“Well, Sam! You do the honours.”

“Right.”

Sam, Cas, and Eileen went to the door and opened it, surprised to see the TARDIS parked towards the back of the bunker’s garage. They exited, followed by the others.

John whistled appreciatively at the vintage cars and motorcycles lined up in the bunker.

“These all yours?”

“Yes and no,” Eileen replied, “They were here when Sam and Dean found this bunker. That blue bike on the far left is mine though.”

“So...a tour?” The Doctor prompted.

“Uh, sure,” Sam said, leading them down the stairs out of the garage.

He, Eileen, and Cas showed them all around the bunker – the War Room with the entrance, the bedrooms, the infirmary, the firing range, the gym, the bathrooms, the kitchen, and the library. 

“Your library is amazing!” The Doctor said with a laugh as he moved up and down the aisles, “Some of these books date back to the tenth century!”

“This is everything the American Men of Letters collected over the years,” Eileen explained, “Anything you could ever need, from angels to zombies.”

“There’s a record of my first vessel on Earth, back in the sixth century,” Castiel said with a smile as he pulled a random book off the shelf, “Dean still hasn’t found it.”

“ _ S.W., D.W., M.W., Castiel,  _ and  _ Jack, _ ” Rose read aloud as she traced her fingers over the carved letters in the table, “Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jack. But who’s ‘M’?”

“Our mother,” Sam answered, coming to look at the table as well, “God brought her back for a little bit, and we thought we should add her legacy too.”

“But not your father’s,” Sherlock noted casually, flipping through a book.

“ _ Dude, _ ” Sam said with a sigh, “you gotta stop with that.”

“Sherlock’s still not very good around people,” John explained, “Hopefully being around some Americans will train him a bit.”

“Train who?”

Everyone (minus the hunters) all yelped and flinched as Jack appeared in the room, smiling pleasantly.

“Jesus!” John yelled again.

“No, I’m Jack.”

“Good to see you, Jack,” Sam said with a laugh as he walked over and clapped Jack’s shoulder, “So I’m guessing Cas told you everything?”

“Yeah. Um, sorry by the way.” Jack looked at all the out-of-towners in the room, “I’m kind of new at this.”

“New at being God?” John asked.

“Yeah, and just in general. I  _ was  _ born two years ago.”

“Excuse me?” Sherlock said, snapping his book shut and marching over to Jack, beginning to circle him, “You’re  _ two _ ? What, do you age faster than normal?”

“No,” Jack replied cheerfully, “I knew I was in danger, so I was born fully-formed at eighteen so I could protect myself. My birth is what actually ripped the hole between the universes to begin with.”

“Fascinating!” The Doctor mused. 

“What was the maintenance issue in Heaven, by the way?” Rose asked, sitting on top of one of the library tables, “I didn’t think Heaven  _ had  _ maintenance issues.”

“Cas and I did some remodelling,” Jack replied, “Me and the other angels have been putting out fires all over the place. This time, one of the waterfalls we created started to flow sideways.”

“You  _ remodelled Heaven? _ ” John asked, “Really?”

“Yes. It wasn’t run very well before. I decided I would be a good God. Uh, sorry again.”

“No worries, always happy to travel somewhere new!” The Doctor said cheerfully.

“So what is your plan?” Sherlock asked, stopping to stare at him.

“I’m going to have to find and close all of the doors first,” Jack admitted, “I’ll probably need your help finding them all.”

“Aren’t you God though?” John asked, “Shouldn’t you already know all that?”

Jack shrugged, “I’m still trying to get a handle on being God. I can close the doorways, but it will go a lot faster if you help me look for them.”

“We can do that,” Eileen said, “Research other anomalies.”

“And if there are any strays from other universes wandering around,” the Doctor offered, “we can always round ‘em up!”

“We’ve got tons of room in the bunker,” Sam offered, “You can all stay here. Especially since you’re all from different universes, so I’m not sure how the cheques are gonna bounce at the motel.”

“And we’ve got room in the TARDIS!” Rose offered.

“Oh, it’s been  _ so long  _ since most of the rooms have been used,” the Doctor said, “This is so exciting!”

“So are we staying here at the bunker?” John asked. 

“Like I said, we’ve got tons of rooms,” Sam said.

“The bunker was designed to hold an entire chapter,” Eileen added.

“Rose and I will just stay in the TARDIS, it’s basically our home at this point.”

“And we shall use our combined efforts to research other transdimensional travellers,” Sherlock said, “I think that’s doable.”


End file.
